“The Senate and People of Rome, who together constitute the Republic of Rome, do not make any allowances for the punishment of full citizens without trial,” said Caesar in that high, clear, carrying voice. “Fifteen people have just advocated the death penalty, yet not one has mentioned the trial process. It is clear that the members of this body have decided to abrogate the Republic in order to go much further back in Rome’s history for a verdict on the fate of some twenty-one citizens of the Republic, including a man who has been consul once and praetor twice, and who actually is still a legally elected praetor at this moment. Therefore I will not waste this House’s time in praising the Republic or the trial and appeal processes every citizen of the Republic is entitled to undergo before his peers can enforce a sentence of any kind. Instead, since my ancestors the Julii were Fathers during the reign of King Tullus Hostilius, I will confine my remarks to the situation as it was during the reign of the kings.”
The House was sitting up straighter now. Caesar went on. “Confession or no, a sentence of death is not the Roman way. It was not the Roman way under the kings, though the kings put many men to death even as we do today—by murder during public violence. King Tullus Hostilius, warlike though he was, hesitated to approve a formal sentence of death. It looked bad, he could see that so clearly that it was he who advised Horatius to appeal when the duumviri damned him for the murder of his sister, Horatia. The hundred Fathers—ancestors of our Republican Senate—were not inclined to be merciful, but they took the royal hint, thereby establishing a precedent that the Senate of Rome has no business doing Romans to death. When Romans are done to death by men in government—who does not remember Marius and Sulla?—it means that good government has perished, that the State is degenerate.
“Conscript Fathers, I have little time, so I will just say this: let us not go back to the time of the kings if that means execution! Execution is no fitting punishment. Execution is death, and death is merely an eternal sleep. Any man must suffer more if he is sentenced to a living exile than if he dies! Every day he must think of his reduction to non-citizen, poverty, contempt, obscurity. His public statues come tumbling down; his imago cannot be worn in any family funeral procession, nor displayed anywhere. He is an outcast, disgraced and ignoble. His sons and grandsons must always hang their heads in shame, his wife and daughters weep. And all of this he knows, for he is still alive, he is still a man, with all a man’s feelings and weaknesses. And all a man’s strengths, now of little use to him save as torment. Living death is infinitely worse than real death. I do not fear death, so long as it be sudden. What I fear is some political situation which could result in permanent exile, the loss of my dignitas. And if I am nothing else, I am a Roman to the tiniest bone, the most minute scrap of tissue. Venus made me, and Venus made Rome.”
Silanus was looking confused, Cicero angry, everyone else very thoughtful, even Cato.
“I appreciate what the learned senior consul has had to say about what he insists on calling the Senatus Consultum Ultimum—that under its shelter all normal laws and procedures are suspended. I understand that the learned senior consul’s chief concern is the present welfare of Rome, and that he considers the continued residence of these self-confessed traitors within our city walls to be a peril. He wants the business concluded as quickly as is possible. Well, so do I! But not with a death sentence, if we must go back to the time of the kings. I do not worry about our learned senior consul, or any of the fourteen brilliant men sitting here who have already been consul. I do not worry about next year’s consuls, or this year’s praetors, or next year’s praetors, or all the men sitting here who have already been praetor and may still hope to be consul.”
Caesar paused, looked extremely grave. “What worries me is some consul of the future, ten or twenty years down the road of time. What kind of precedent will he see in what we do here today? Indeed, what kind of precedent is our learned senior consul taking when he cites Saturninus? On the day when we-all-really-know-who illegally executed Roman citizens without a trial, those self-appointed executioners desecrated an inaugurated temple, for that is what the Curia Hostilia is! Rome herself was profaned. My, my, what an example! But it is not our learned senior consul worries me! It is some less scrupulous and less learned consul of the future.
“Let us keep a cool head and look at this business with our eyes open and our thinking apparatus detached. There are other punishments than death. Other punishments than exile in a luxurious place like Athens or Massilia. How about Corfinium or Sulmo or some other formidably fortified Italian hill town? That’s where we’ve put our captured kings and princes for centuries. So why not Roman enemies of the State too? Confiscate their property to pay such a town extremely well for the trouble, and simultaneously make sure they cannot escape. Make them suffer, yes! But do not kill them!”
When Caesar sat down no one spoke, even Cicero. Then the senior consul-elect, Silanus, got to his feet, looking sheepish.
“Gaius Julius, I think you mistake what I meant by saying ‘the extreme penalty,’ and I think everyone else made the same mistake. I did not mean death! Death is un-Roman. No, I meant much what you mean, actually. Life imprisonment in a house in an impregnable Italian hill town, paid for by property confiscation.”
And so it went, everyone now advocating a stringent confinement paid for by confiscation of property.
When the praetors were finished, Cicero held up his hand. “There are just too many ex-praetors present here to allow everyone to speak, and I did not count ex-praetors in that total of fifty-eight men. Those who wish to contribute nothing new to the debate, please hold up your hands in response to the two questions I will put to you now: those in favor of a death sentence?”
None, as it turned out. Cicero flushed.
“Those in favor of strict custody in an Italian town and complete confiscation of property?’’
All save one, as it turned out.
“Tiberius Claudius Nero, what do you have to say?”
“Only that the absence of the word ‘trial’ from all these speeches today disturbs me greatly. Every Roman man, self-confessed traitor or not, is entitled to a trial, and these men must be tried. But I do not think they should be tried before Catilina is either defeated or surrenders. Let the chief perpetrator stand trial first of all.”
“Catilina,” said Cicero gently, “is no longer a Roman citizen! Catilina is not entitled to trial under any law of the Republic.”
“He should be tried too,” said Claudius Nero stubbornly, and sat down.
Metellus Nepos, president of the new College of Tribunes of the Plebs to go into office in five days’ time, spoke first. He was tired, he was ravenous; eight hours had gone by, which really wasn’t bad considering the importance of the subject and the number of men who had already spoken. But what he dreaded was Cato, who would follow him—when was Cato not long-winded, prolix, awkward and utterly boring? So he rattled off his speech supporting Caesar, and sat down with a glare for Cato.
It never occurred to Metellus Nepos that the only reason Cato stood in the House today a tribune of the plebs-elect was due entirely to him, Metellus Nepos. When Nepos had returned from the East after a delightful campaign as one of Pompey the Great’s senior legates, he traveled in some style. Naturally. He was one of the most important Caecilii Metelli, he was extremely rich and had managed to enrich himself even more since going east, and he was Pompey’s brother-in-law into the bargain. So he had journeyed up the Via Appia at his leisure, well before the elections and well before the summer’s heat. Men in a hurry rode or drove, but Nepos had had enough of hurrying; his choice of locomotion was a huge litter borne by no less than twelve men. In this fabulous equipage he lolled on a down mattress covered in Tyrian purple, and had a servant crouched in one corner to minister to him with food and drink, a chamber pot, reading materials.
As he never stuck his head between the litter’s curtains, he never noticed the humble pedestrians his cavalcade frequentl
y encountered, so of course he never noticed a group of six extremely humble pedestrians headed in the opposite direction. Three of the six were slaves. The other three were Munatius Rufus, Athenodorus Cordylion, and Marcus Porcius Cato, on their way to Cato’s estate in Lucania for a summer of studying and freedom from children.
For a long time Cato simply stood on the side of the road watching the parade amble by, counting the number of people, counting the number of vehicles. Slaves, dancing girls, concubines, guards, loot, cook-wagons, libraries on wheels and wine cellars on wheels.
“Ho, soldier, who travels like Sampsiceramus the potentate?” Cato cried to a guard when the parade had nearly passed.
“Quintus Caecilius Metellus Nepos, brother-in-law of Magnus!” called the soldier.
“He’s in a terrific hurry,” said Cato sarcastically.
But the soldier took the remark seriously. “Yes, he is, pilgrim! He’s running for the tribunate of the plebs in Rome!”
Cato walked on a little way south, but before the sun was halfway down the western sky, he turned around.
“What’s the matter?” asked Munatius Rufus.
“I must return to Rome and stand for the tribunate of the plebs,” said Cato through clenched teeth. “There must be someone in that buffoon’s College to make life difficult for him—and for his all-powerful master, Pompeius Magnus!”
Nor had Cato done badly in the elections; he had come in second to Metellus Nepos. Which meant that when Metellus Nepos sat down, Cato got up.
“Death is the only penalty!” he shouted.
The room froze, every eye turned upon Cato in wonder. He was such a stickler for the mos maiorum that it had occurred to no one to doubt that his speech would follow along the line either of Caesar’s or Tiberius Claudius Nero’s.
“Death is the only penalty, I say! What is all this rubbish about law and the Republic? When has the Republic sheltered the likes of self-confessed traitors under her skirts? No law is ever made for self-confessed traitors. Laws are made for lesser beings. Laws are made for men who may transgress them, but do so with no harm intended to their country, the place which bred them and made them what they are.
“Look at Decimus Junius Silanus, weak and vacillating fool! When he thinks Marcus Tullius wants a death sentence, he suggests ‘the extreme penalty’! Then when Caesar speaks, he changes his mind—what he meant was what Caesar said! How could he ever offend his beloved Caesar? And what of this Caesar, this overbred and effeminate fop who boasts he is descended from Gods and then proceeds to defaecate all over mere men? Caesar, Conscript Fathers, is the real prime mover in this business! Catilina? Lentulus Sura? Marcus Crassus? No, no, no! Caesar! It’s Caesar’s plot! Wasn’t it Caesar who tried to have his uncle Lucius Cotta and his colleague Lucius Torquatus assassinated on their first day in office as consuls three years ago? Yes, Caesar preferred Publius Sulla and Autronius to his own blood uncle! Caesar, Caesar, always and ever Caesar! Look at him, senators! Better than all the rest of us put together! Descended from Gods, born to rule, eager to manipulate events, happy to push other men into the furnace while he skulks in the shade! Caesar! I spit on you, Caesar! I spit!”
And he actually tried to do so. Most of the senators sat with their jaws sagging, so amazing was this hate-filled diatribe. Everyone knew Cato and Caesar disliked each other; most knew Caesar had cuckolded Cato. But this blistering torrent of farfetched abuse? This implication of treason? What on earth had gotten into Cato?
“We have five guilty men in our custody who have confessed to their crimes and to the crimes of sixteen other men not in our custody. Where is the need for a trial? A trial is a waste of time and good State money! And, Conscript Fathers, wherever there is a trial, is also the possibility of bribery. Other juries in other cases quite as serious as this have acquitted in the face of manifest guilt! Other juries have reached out greedy hands to take vast fortunes from the likes of Marcus Crassus, Caesar’s friend and financial backer! Is Catilina to rule Rome? No! Caesar is to rule, with Catilina as his master of the horse and Crassus free to do as he likes in the Treasury!”
“I hope you have proof of all this,” said Caesar mildly; he was well aware that calm drove Cato to distraction.
“I will get proof, never fear!” Cato shouted. “Where there is wrongdoing, one can always find proof! Look at the proof which found five men traitors! They saw it, they heard it, and they all confessed. Now that is proof! And I will find proof of Caesar’s implication in this conspiracy and in the one of three years ago! No trial for the guilty five, I say! No trial for any of them! Nor ought they escape from death! Caesar argues for clemency on philosophical grounds. Death, he says, is merely an eternal sleep. But do we know that for certain? No, we do not! No one has ever come back from death to tell us what happens after we die! Death is cheaper. And death is final. Let the five die today!”
Caesar spoke again, still mildly. “Unless the treason be perduellio, Cato, death is not a legal penalty. And if you do not intend to try these men, how can you decide whether they committed perduellio or maiestas? You seem to argue perduellio, but are you?’’
“This is not the time or the place for legal quibbling, even if you had no other reason behind your drive for clemency, Caesar!” blared Cato. “They must die, and they must die today!”
On he went, oblivious to the passage of time. Cato was in stride, the harangue would continue until he saw to his satisfaction that his sheer grinding monotony had worn everyone down. The House flinched; Cicero almost wept. Cato was going to rant on until the sun set, and the vote would not be taken today.
It wanted an hour before sunset was due when a servant sidled into the chamber and unobtrusively handed Caesar a folded note.
Cato pounced. “Ah! The traitor is revealed!” he roared. “He sits receiving treasonous notes under our very eyes—that is the extent of his arrogance, his contempt for this House! I say you are a traitor, Caesar! I say that note contains proof!”
While Cato thundered, Caesar read. When he looked up his face bore a most peculiar expression—mild anguish? Or amusement!
“Read it out, Caesar, read it out!” screamed Cato.
But Caesar shook his head. He folded the note, got up from his seat, crossed the floor to where Cato sat on the middle tier of the other side, and handed him the note with a smile. “I think you might prefer to keep its contents to yourself,” he said.
Cato was not a good reader. The endless squiggles unseparated save into columns (and sometimes a word would be continued onto the line below, an additional confusion) took a long time to decipher. And while he mumbled and puzzled, the senators sat in some gratitude for this relative silence, dreading Cato’s resumption (and dreading that indeed the note would be construed as treasonous).
A shriek erupted from Cato’s throat; everybody jumped. Then he screwed the piece of paper up and threw it at Caesar.
“Keep it, you disgusting philanderer!”
But Caesar didn’t get the note. When it fell well short of where he sat, Philippus snatched it up—and immediately opened it. A better reader than Cato, he was guffawing within moments; as soon as he finished he handed it on down the line of praetors-elect in the direction of Silanus and the curule dais.
Cato realized he had lost his audience, busy laughing, reading, or dying of curiosity. “It is typical of this body that something so contemptible and petty should prove more fascinating than the fate of traitors!” he cried. “Senior consul, I demand that the House instruct you under the terms of the existing Senatus Consultum Ultimum to execute the five men in our custody at once, and to pass a death sentence on four more men—Lucius Cassius Longinus, Quintus Annius Chilo, Publius Umbrenus and Publius Furius—to become effective the moment any or all of them are captured.”
Of course Cicero was as eager to read Caesar’s note as any other man present, but he saw his chance, and took it.
“Thank you, Marcus Porcius Cato. I will see a division on your motion that the fiv
e men in our custody be executed at once, and that the four other men so named be executed immediately after they are apprehended. All those favoring a death sentence, pass to my right. Those not in favor, pass to my left.”
The senior consul-elect, Decimus Junius Silanus, husband of Servilia, got the note just before Cicero put his motion. It said:
Brutus has just rushed in to tell me that my low-life half brother Cato has accused you of treason in the House, even admitting he has absolutely no proof! My most precious and darling man, take no notice. It’s spite because you stole Atilia and put horns upon his head—not to mention that I know she told him he was pipinna compared to you. A fact that I am well able to vouch for myself. The rest of Rome is pipinna compared to you.
Remember that Cato is not so much as the dirt beneath a patrician’s feet, that he is no more than the descendant of a slave and a cantankerous old peasant who sucked up to patricians enough to get himself made censor—whereupon he deliberately ruined as many patricians as he could. This Cato would love to do the same. He loathes all patricians, but you in particular. And did he know what lies between us, Caesar, he would loathe you more.
Keep up your courage, ignore the pernicious weed and all his minions. Rome is better served by one Caesar than half a hundred Catos and Bibuluses. As their wives could all testify!
Silanus looked at Caesar with grey dignity and no other emotion. Caesar’s face was sad, but not contrite. Then Silanus rose and passed to Cicero’s right; he would not vote for Caesar.
Nor did many vote for Caesar, though not everyone passed to the right. Metellus Celer, Metellus Nepos, Lucius Caesar, several of the tribunes of the plebs including Labienus, Philippus, Gaius Octavius, both Luculli, Tiberius Claudius Nero, Lucius Cotta, and Torquatus stood to Cicero’s left, together with some thirty of the pedarii from the back bench. And Mamercus Princeps Senatus.
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